The Sound of Madness
by The Giant Daifuku
Summary: Balthier knows he's mad, but the hallucinations have started to take a turn for the worst. When Death offers a possible escape, Balthier takes it, though not without a prod from Fran. However, he didn't think that he would be following children again.
1. Talking Farm Implements

So... not the best opening I've come up with, but... I just need lift off! I have a few other ideas I want to get down before outputting chapters for the other stories, but they will be finished, I know what I'm going to do and "Silver Glass" is almost done.

**A/N Edit, 2/19/2011: **So I forgot to mention that this is the sixth story in the World Traveler series, starting with the Pirates of the Caribbean crossover "When Pirate and Pirate Meet" way back when during the summer of 2010. I will definately say that my writing has evolved since then, because while I love this series to pieces, I will not deny that I sometimes grimace while rereading them.

This story is dedicated to **Tango-chan** (ElTangoDeRoxanne) and **emeraldonyxdragon**... because they are so nice and review for me, and put up with my wild ideas.

* * *

Balthier sat by the window of the _Strahl_, the window open and the cool Phon Coast wind blowing on his face. It was midnight, and Fran was asleep in her bunk, curled under a quilt, her nose twitching in her sleep. On the small table, a slightly wilted rose rested in a chipped mug of water, perfuming the salty sea air with its scent. This was the rose Lightning left at his grave during the little "incident" involving his "death" by hanging; he'd begged Fran to cast the most powerful Slow spell she could upon it to slow its passing. So far, a year later, the lush petals were only a little wrinkled about their edges. In the moonlight, the rose, red as phoenix feathers, looked almost blue.

"Dark blue; the color of death." Penelo whispered from behind him, her pale grey lips almost touching his ear. Her skin was the color of snow, her eyes black as the darkest reaches of the sea. Balthier reached forward to touch the rose with a finger; when his skin encountered the moonlight, he choked in terror.

Bones. Hard, grey bones with patches of filmy, rotted skin stretched over them here and there, caressed the soft petals. Balthier quickly retracted his hand from the moonlight, staring as it was covered in tawny flesh again.

"No…" he breathed, thrusting both hands into the light again. He bit his lip, hard, feeling his own cold blood rush into his mouth. His senses were clogged by the stench of copper and the salty, bitter taste, but the pain of the bleeding cut was real. He was not dreaming. It was back.

The curse was back.

"_Fran,_" he only had to speak her name and she was awake, sitting up in the bunk and looking at him with an appalled expression.

"This wasn't supposed to happen," she murmured as he stood silhouetted by the light pouring in from the window. "This… why? Calypso's spell should have stopped this from happening!"

Balthier looked out the window, pulling his shirt off as he did so to examine the medallion suspended in a knot of decaying flesh. Its luster was gone, the sharp edges no longer defined. "The spell is gone." A dead crab washed up on the shore, and Balthier's sharp eyes did not fail to see it. "Calypso is dead, and it must be that no one believes in her anymore. The time of the gods on Earth has passed."

"Did it not pass long ago? When the machines from Earth went rampant in Ivalice?"

"Will was still there, as was Jack, but I fear that, with Calypso gone, the time of the _Dutchman_ is over." Balthier pulled the curtains shut, and there was a quiet squelch as his appearance resumed to be that of a normal Hume's. He grimaced at the sound.

"We will find a way to remedy this, Ffamran." Fran tried to reassure him, but her words were hollow. Balthier felt his blood run cold; not even Fran, his wise, all-knowing Fran, knew what to do.

Suddenly, there was a loud crash from the cockpit. They shared a look. Bounty hunters? Silently making their way down the hall and toward the control room, they peered past the curtain and into the cockpit.

The window was shattered, and a girl stood there, brushing herself off. She wore a short, tartan skirt and a long black coat, almost like a robe, but it revealed short, slender legs. Balthier's eyes traveled up her legs, appreciating the view, before resting on her face. She was _young_, no older than fifteen, if he had to guess. She wore her hair in two pigtails that would have been quite adorable if one was into that sort of thing. However, this gentle, schoolgirl appearance was offset by the large, black and red scythe she carried in her white-gloved hands. When she finished brushing herself off, she caught sight of them, and Balthier found himself at the business end of her weapon. Judging by the way she held it, she was no amateur at using it, either. Despite his predicament, the girl's announcement nearly made him laugh.

"Kishin, prepare yourself! In the name of Lord Death, I have come to collect your soul!"

"You're welcome to try it, girl, but it's not going to work. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some pressing matters to attend to." Balthier backed toward Fran, preparing for a fight despite his relaxed posture.

"Hey, Maka? You sure this guy is a Kishin? I mean… he looks like just a normal guy," a new voice said, emanating from the scythe. The reflection of a boy with white hair, sharp teeth, and red eyes appeared on the blade, addressing the girl, Maka. He was quite naked, but thankfully, only his chest and above was visible in the scythe blade.

"Soul, you idiot, his soul is already a Kishin egg, I'm sure of it. You can't see souls like I can."

Balthier made a show of stretching and yawning complacently, placing his hands behind his head, but he felt Fran slip several throwing knives into his hands.

"So, you've got me, but I fail to see what my insanity has to do with keys and shins." He did not care that he was getting whatever concept she was referring to entirely wrong; he just had to stop her from slashing him to pieces with her farming implement. More importantly, he had to stop her from wrecking his ship!

"He's wide open! You'll never get a chance like this!" the scythe yelled, and Maka leaped forward, pulling back for a devastating blow. At the same time, like a spring releasing, Balthier flipped his first knife so that he held it by the blade and threw it, pinning her arm by the sleeve of her robe to a decorative panel.

"That is going to cost a fortune to replace," Fran noted, and Balthier winced.

"So… Maka, was it?" Balthier staked her other sleeve to the panel when she attempted to take a swing at him with her free arm. "Who are you working for? I'd like to know so that I can send them the bill covering the replacement costs for this panel and the paling reinforced window you broke."

With a flash, the scythe transformed into the boy who was reflected on the blade; luckily, he was wearing clothes now. This boy, apparently named _Soul_, dashed toward Balthier, a protective gleam in his red eyes. In an instant, Fran was in his way, catching the punch he meant to land in Balthier's face. "I won't let you hurt Maka!" Soul snapped, struggling, but the strength of a hume boy (even a hume boy that could turn into a scythe) was nothing compared to Vieran strength.

"Oh calm down, I won't kill her. I don't even intend to harm her, really," Balthier drawled, pocketing the last throwing knife. The distrustful look in Soul's eyes did not fade. "She has done no harm to me, other than breaking the windshield of my ship and forcing me to damage an antique wall panel. Don't you know you should knock?"

Maka snorted. "Please, the last thing I'm about to do is politely knock on the door of mankind's worst enemy."

Fran shared a look with Balthier, raising a snow-white eyebrow. "I did not know we were mankind's worst enemies, now," she said.

"Neither did I," he grinned. On his skeletal face, it was not pretty, but Maka did not seem particularly perturbed. "So… tell me about these Kishins. I've never heard of them on Ivalice before."

Maka looked angry enough to split, but eventually began to explain. "The Kishin is the source of all madness in the world. All people naturally have some madness, but the Kishin exacerbates the problem, amplifying it and amplifying it until the world plunges into darkness. Lord Death sealed it away eight-hundred years ago, and it is my job to cut down souls that have become kishin eggs and prevent more eggs from being made."

"And my soul is one of these… eggs?"

"Yes. Kishin eggs are born amidst great murder, evil, and bloodshed. The only way to save them is through death."

"Spit on it." Balthier turned away from her, settling into a shadowed corner. "You can tell Death I have no intention of being shuffled from the mortal coil in order to cleanse the world of evil. Mad, I may be, murdering my way through the ages to maintain my own sanity, but there is still much for me to do. Like solve this little problem with the moon I happen to be having at the minute, so if you'll excuse me—"

"I need a mirror." Maka said plainly. Soul looked surprised, his red eyes widening.

"Maka, now is not the time to be primping—"

"Shut up, Soul. I want to talk to Death; this is not going as planned, neither is this what we expected. Please; I must see a mirror, sir." Fran flicked an ear—_There is no malice in her eyes. Let her use the mirror._

Balthier sighed, wondering why he felt the need to indulge this girl in her quest for reflective surfaces, prying the knives from the panel and tying Maka's hands in front of her, leading her down the hall to his cabin. He was rather appalled when she breathed on his looking-glass and scrubbed some numbers into it, but shocked as soon as the mirror glowed with white light and then… Death appeared.

Balthier blinked—once. Twice. The visage didn't go away.

"Hiya, hiya, hiya, hiiiiiiiiii! Yo! How ya doin'? Good to hear from you, Maka! How did the battle with the kishin egg go?" Death, a jagged outline that looked as if it only had one foot rooted to the ground and a tall jagged hat on its head, bounced up and down comically, waving with huge, block like hands. His mask was a silly, three toothed thing with two round eyeholes and a round nose, giving the look of a jovial squid rather than a skull.

"Lord Death," Maka begin, as Balthier looked on with bemused laughter in his eyes. Fran peered into the room curiously, a hand on Soul's collar to prevent him from doing anything rash. "We found the egg, but we were not expecting it to still be particularly human and have you know… feelings other than the want to do evil." Balthier snorted.

"A sky pirate I am, but a pilferer and pillager from those who have nothing to steal, I am not," he broke in. Death tilted his head to the side, his ecstatic bouncing changing to a more meditative one.

"Ah… I see. I do not think you expected to find it in the company of a pure soul. It would seem the reason we did not notice the egg until recently was because the pure soul negates its madness… why don't you bring them back, Maka? This is very interesting, but very disturbing indeed…"

Maka turned toward them imploringly, but Fran spoke up now. "Balthier, perhaps if we met with Death himself, we might find a cure for your condition."

"I am loathe to throw my lot in with a god," Balthier replied, sighing as he sat down on the bed. It barely sank under his weight. "Nothing good ever comes from it."

"I'm hurt," Death proclaimed, slamming a hand to his chest theatrically. "I insist you come back to the DWMA with Maka and Soul Eater, it'll be my treat, really! And I can offer compensation for your time and trouble, as well as a replacement for the broken window and panel!"

"DWMA is short for Death Weapon Meister Academy, by the way," Maka said proudly. Balthier felt what blood he had in his veins run cold.

"Academy? And… people like you go there, correct? That means…" Children. Lots, and lots of children. He could mentally count them and see their grubby, smiling faces. No. He would _not_ follow children— it had been three centuries since the time when he went gallivanting after Ashe, Vaan, and Penelo (Basch only counted now, when Balthier was older than he), and after the little stint in Underland he swore he would never follow children again.

Unfortunately, fate seemed to have other ideas.


	2. Death is friendly?

Yay, second chapter up! This took a little while to come up with, but like I said, I'm still in the process of getting off the ground. Though I would say we are almost at cruising altitude now.

Thanks to **Tango-chan** (oh you rascally rascal for skipping school!)**, Dragon-san**, **RyuuRanger**, and a round of applause to **Wolfsbane706** who went and reviewed every story previously in the WT series!

* * *

Balthier faked a yawn (in all honesty, he never got tired anymore) and cast his eyes about the _Strahl_ for the last time, faking laziness while frantically running through a checklist of things to be done before they left.

"Fran, did you cover the—"

"Yes."

He paused. "Did you take care of—"

"Yes."

"You didn't even listen to my question," Balthier wilted, almost childlike in his disappointment. Fran shook her head, her silvery locks swaying.

"You have done everything you can; there is nothing else to do but wait until they get their friend Sid to open the portal. In the meantime, why not sit and relax?"

"Because I have never been one to, as you put it, sit and relax." As if to prove his point, Balthier paced the cockpit like an angry Coeurl, pivoting neatly on his heel and stalking back to the other side. Soul Eater leaned toward Maka from where he lounged against the wall.

"Reckon they're married?" he muttered. Maka promptly elbowed him in the ribs, and he doubled over, gasping.

"That was rude, Soul."

"What? They live together, eat together—probably sleep together, too. Look! It even has a ring on its left hand."

Soul wheezed on the ground, blood running out his head, the victim of a vicious chop from a small book Maka procured from the inside of her robe. Balthier sighed, rubbing his temples. So he was an _it_ now, was he? He would have to clean up the blood on the floor… He glanced toward the clock. Half an hour left—half an hour left of torture at the hands of a boy who, though marginally more interesting than Vaan, was like the boy insofar as making assumptions that might inevitably make an… untoward person of both him and the subject of his conversation.

"Once we lived together, until he died. Once we ate together, until his appetite died with him. And perhaps, once upon a time, we may have slept together, until the need to sleep fell away from him." To his surprise, Fran spoke up, rising to defend both their honors. How unlike her. Soul blinked.

"What does he do now, if he's dead and all like you say?"

"He wanders with me. And…" her voice held a note of mischief that only Balthier could hear. "He sits, _patiently_, and watches me eat, and sits, _patiently_, watching me sleep. And he will sit, _patiently_, now, as we wait for Sid."

Soul Eater leaned his head against the wall, shutting his eyes and muttering something that sounded vaguely like "uncool", while Maka giggled. Tired of being the butt for some jokes, Balthier slipped out of the crowded kitchen to find sanctuary outside, where he could listen to the quiet whisper of the Phon waves. He felt the warm play of the sun over his cold skin, and welcomed it; perhaps if he stayed there a while more, he would warm up, too?

The whispering of the waves began to resolve themselves into words. A pair of thin, paper white arms snaked across his stomach, and a pointed chin rested against his shoulder.

"You're leaving again?" Penelo stood in the shadows, dragging him out of the sun to stand with her in the shade of the _Strahl's_ wings. He followed her somewhat reluctantly, displeased by the cooler environs she wished to stay in. "Don't worry; I'll follow you."

_I don't want you to follow me_, he wanted to say, but his tongue was frozen. He settled for watching the way her grey lips parted as she spoke.

"You'll never be alone, not while I am here. Balthier… I miss you. _We_ miss you. When will you be joining us?"

"Not soon," he murmured. "And I am thinking I will not follow to where you are for a long time."

Penelo's face turned ugly then, and her lips twisted in a horrible snarl. "You can't escape me, Bunansa. We won't rest until we've got you. _Give me your soul!_" she hissed, plunging her hand into his chest. His world exploded, and the only thing he could feel was her vicious grip on _something_ inside of him, and she was just about to pull it out—

"Balthier!" Maka's voice jerked him out of the hallucination. He stumbled backward, nearly tripping over a rock and falling before he caught himself. "It's eleven fifty-five, so the gate will open any—are you okay? You look a little pale…"

Balthier brushed a trembling hand against his brow, feeling clammy and unpleasant. He could still feel her hand in his chest, tugging at that invisible thing inside. "I'm fine," he forced himself to say. "Just a little warm. Heatstroke." He was appalled by the inarticulate response, but he barely had enough ability to marshal his thoughts into anything that might become a passable lie, never mind talk the ears off a young girl. He concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other without tripping and bashing his skull upon the _Strahl's_ stairs, and when he nearly reached the top, Maka's hand shot out to rest against his forehead.

"My goodness! You're like a warm newt! I'll go get Miss Fran, stay here, alright?"

"For the god's sakes, one would think you were my mother!" Balthier raised an eyebrow, cocking his head at the young girl and wagging his finger. "Respect your elders, young miss." Unfortunately, Fran already heard the commotion and was on the stairs, pressing her overly warm hands against his face. He flinched away from her. "I will be fine," he insisted. "I will last until we get there—worry about me later."

Maka scampered into the cargo hold ahead of them to meet up with Soul, and Fran followed at a more sedate pace with her partner.

"_Tell me, Balthier, what truly ails you? Do not lie; you cannot get heatstroke,_" she whispered. The pirate in question raised and lowered his shoulder, thinking of how he should answer her, but was spared the trouble as four glowing coffins of light rose out of the floor, the insides yawning open to black infinity.

"In we go!" Soul muttered, hopping over the side of a coffin and vanishing into the darkness. Maka followed suit, and Fran, with a worried glance toward her partner (he did his best to give her a reassuring smirk), vaulted into her own coffin. Balthier grinned at the irony, before taking the step into midair. It just occurred to him, as he fell peaceably through the darkness, that what he was forgetting was his gun. A cursory glance toward his hip revealed he did not even have a fighting dagger—only his regular hidden ones. Pencil thin or else meant for throwing, in a fight, they would shatter like glass in the face of a stronger weapon.

"Oh, bollocks."

* * *

Soul sat up, rubbing his face, while Maka dusted off the hem of her robe. Fran helped her partner to her feet—he was clearly dazed, his eyes vacant and glazed, silver cracks showing through the ocean of brown, but they swiftly cleared.

"I'm quite alright—just a little lost in transit." He gave her a quicksilver smile that was not at all reassuring.

"Oh yes, so the weapon falls on its face, does it?" Soul grumbled. "How come Balthier gets helped up by his girl and I don't?"

"I'm not your girl, Soul! How can you say that?" Maka pushed him angrily.

"Now, now, a weapon and his Meister shouldn't fight!" Death floated toward them, bobbing up and down. "Welcome to Death City! You are currently in the Death Room, and I am your happy host, Death! Howdy!"

"Not too creative when it comes down to names, are we?" Balthier managed to say with a stiff bow.

"Excuse his rudeness," Fran pinched his arm, and he bit back a yelp. "He is not quite feeling himself at the moment. The pup's name is Balthier—"

"_Pup?_" came the affronted cry.

"—I am Fran. It is quite the pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord Death," she finished. Balthier huffed indignantly, finding himself in the position to do so now that the thing Penelo nearly ripped out of him seemed to have settled back into place. Death shook both their hands avidly, his huge ones dwarfing their own.

"_Wonderful!_ Now, I'm sure you are quite tired out from your trip through space— Sid was, after opening the gate. It took much time and experimentation on the part of Doctor Stein to come up with the exact way to do this. Here; my son, Kid, will show you to your rooms. Maka, Soul, stay here to talk to me, would you?" Death bounced up and down happily as a young boy Balthier just now noticed stood up from a large chair in the middle of the room (the _exact_ middle of it) and nodded to them vaguely, before leading them away.

Now that his vision was not dominated by Lord Death's comical figure, Balthier had time to appreciate his surroundings a little more: a stone grey pedestal, with a mirror on the far end, surrounded by a sea of crosses. The sky, upon closer observation, was not actually the sky; it was the room's walls and ceiling. After all, how many skies had _windows_ hanging in midair? The series of red gates leading away from the Death Room had blades on their crossbeams, reminding him of so many guillotine axes ready to fall.

"Might I make a comment?" The boy, uncreatively named "Kid", asked. Balthier blinked.

"Comment away, boy."

"Ah, thank you. I thought I might mention… your lady is absolutely gorgeous." Fran's expression, though blank, transformed into a mask. Balthier opened his mouth, then abruptly closed it before he could say or make any stupid noises like certain blonde sky pirate wannabe he knew several centuries ago. Kid continued unabashed. "You see, I believe that absolute beauty is found in perfect symmetry, and your lady is absolutely symmetrical."

"But you yourself are not symmetrical. You have three white streaks on one side and none on the other." Balthier pointed out, and immediately, the tiny part of him that cared about the feelings and well-being of anyone other than Fran regretted it. Kid immediately collapsed to the ground without a care for the cleanliness of his clean white shirt, tears pouring from his unique amber eyes, and commenced slamming his fist into the ground.

"I know," he sobbed hysterically. "I'm an asymmetrical piece of _garbage._ I deserve to die—no, I shouldn't have even been born!" Fran rolled her eyes, kneeling next to him.

"Do not worry, Kid. You and I are much more symmetrical than _other_ people. For example, look at a certain pirate with a penchant for wearing flashy clothing. His earrings are not symmetrical; he has three on one ear and four on the other. The silver cracks in his eyes are not symmetrical— far from it, it is like broken glass. He has more bracelets on one arm than the other. Finally, look at his rings; they are of different colors on each side. See? How asymmetrical he is!" The man in question rolled his eyes, though Kid sniffled, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

"Do you really mean that?" he asked, raising eyes shining with disturbing adoration. Fran nodded, and Balthier growled faintly.

"I'm starting to think you like children, my dear," he teased lightly. Fran only shrugged, helping Kid to his feet. His composure regained, the young death god continued to lead them from the room, with a slight hop in his step.

* * *

"Now," Death said, once the odd trio left the room, "tell me about this Kishin egg. After spending the rest of the night in its airship and interacting, you must have got a better feel of its soul wavelength and whatnot." Maka nodded.

"He was actually giving off wavelengths like a normal soul for the whole time, and acted completely like a normal human, until in the morning. While talking with Fran, there was a large burst of Madness wavelengths from him while he was outside. When I investigated, I found that he was sickly, and he lied to me when I asked what was wrong."

"Heatstroke, my a—" Soul began, before his head was split open for the second time again by a Reaper Chop.

"No swearing in the Death Room," Death said jovially. "Hmm… perhaps when Sid is up and at it again, he can shed some enlightenment on the Kishin egg's behavior—they are both undead, after all. For now, I want them under twenty-four hour surveillance. Try to be discreet about it; I would like them to feel like guests, not prisoners. A 'tame' egg… that is something that never resurfaces twice."


	3. Three Eyes

This was really fun to write. Hee hee hee! Balthier goes very _very_ insane.

Thanks to **ElTangoDeRoxanne**, who I wrote most of this for originally so she could work on part four of our crossovers, and **emeraldonyxdragon** who is very supportive. Finally, a big ol' thank you to **Wolfsbane706** who reviewed all the other stories up to now! Good to have you onboard.

* * *

The quarters Kid led them to were not very bad, as far as quarters went. It turned out they were being housed in the same building (or more accurately, right next door) as Maka and Soul, who apparently lived together. As the boy handed them a small set of keys and explained the usual schedule for those attending (attending? When did this happen?) the Death Weapon Meister Academy, Balthier nodded his vague understanding while Fran verbally thanked him.

He really was quite tired—he'd had a trying day. Balthier could barely remember what happened after they stepped into the room and he collapsed into a chair. Fran put a glass of water in his hand, and he sipped on it without thinking, his eyes fixed on the blank wall of the other side of the room. No—not blank. There was a triumvirate of eyes staring back at him, burned into the wall.

Fran grasped his face—he blinked at their proximity (he hadn't noticed her approach; was he that tired?) and the eyes vanished.

"Hm…?" It took visible effort to rouse himself in order to listen to her. Fran's ears pricked forward toward him as he struggled to raise himself out of his undignified slouch.

"We are not 'students' at the Academy, before you worry about it," she began. "We are to go to the library tomorrow morning for a crash-course on kishin souls and the role of Weapons and Meisters."

"I see. I have always enjoyed studying." Balthier said drowsily. Was there a painting of a girl with pigtails in the corner of the room?

"Next, we have a meeting with Doctor Stein and Sid."

"I hate doctors."

"That grudge is centuries old now, Hume-child."

Balthier raised his eyes toward her, peering at her through a thin screen of short, brown lashes. Rolling her eyes, she continued. "Then, we have training for fighting evil souls for the rest of the day. It is just as well we neglected weaponry—ordinary weapons are of no use."

"What is this, the military? I _ran_ from the Archadian military, Fran. I didn't do all that so I could come back." He heaved a sigh. "Call me petulant, but I want to go home."

"Not until we cure you of your curse and your madn—"

"I'm not mad." The little Dancer was there, she was _real_, and when she grasped his hand, he felt the silk slither of her skin against his palms. Fran could not see her—perhaps Fran was mad.

_No_. Balthier growled faintly to himself and shook his head. Fran was the bulwark that kept him tied, however tenuously, to the mortal plain. Should that tie start fraying…

He had seen the After, the dark abyss of nothingness like jaws waiting to snap up the unwary and the weary, those who had lost all hope and were willing to take the plunge. He _remembered_ the coldness of that place, the emptiness of the starless void, and how it felt to completely, unutterably, and interminably _lost_. It was lonely there, and if he had come across some poor soul while he was trapped there… why, he fancied he might eat it in an attempt to find a little warmth for himself. Selfish, selfish creature…

Fran was asleep, and Balthier settled by the window, studying the moon that failed to wreck its usual havoc upon him. Strange—he would have to inquire into the moon here, but it seemed to have a face, smiling widely with a great deal of sharp teeth and one blank, staring eye. It leered at him, drooling blood and laughing in a low, silky chime. The laughter slowly resolved itself into a familiar voice—_her _voice. Balthier's breath ground to a shuddering halt. Penelo stood in the moonlit window, black eyes gleaming wetly in the gloom.

"You."

"I told you I'd follow you," she purred, perching in his lap. He found himself unable to move, frozen in place as she walked her fingers up his chest to his shoulder, wrapping her hand around the back of his neck as she leaned into him. "We have all night. What shall we do? I know! Let's play Twenty Questions! Question number one: When will you come to join us?"

"Never."

"That's a pity. If you let us guide you, you could be so much more than what you let yourself be. You'd never fear anything—you'd never go hungry."

"I am not afraid of anything."

"I see…" Penelo whispered, closing her eyes and nodding against his chest knowingly. "But you do not deny that _she_ does not satisfy you, and never has."

"Shut up, that's a filthy lie! Who sent you?"

"Who sent me?" Penelo tilted her head, looking up at him. Her lips parted in a gristly smile to reveal sharp, broken points. "You, of course. Come along!"

Her hand was in his chest again.

* * *

"Balthier!" Fran surged up from the bed, tried to catch his hands as he lashed out in agony, fingers scrabbling at the air just above his chest. She bore him to the ground and straddled his stomach, struggling to hold him still. His wild silver eyes, jumping in his head, locked with hers, and recognition glimmered within them for a moment—a single, precious moment, and his panted words were jerky and jumbled.

"Fran—please—you have to help me—" he babbled, the words tumbling over each other in a stream of terror. "She's—_gods!_—she's _eating me from the inside!_"

"You must calm yourself, Balthier. Tell me, who is doing this to you?" Fran moved her hands to cradle his face, and he grasped at her wrists as if clinging to a lifeline, before his face twisted into a pained snarl and the light of recognition faded.

"Brazen witch! Unhand me, creature, you'll not have me! You'll dine on my offal before I give you my soul!" His hands tightened about her wrists, and with a quick twist and a burst of unprecedented strength, he reversed their positions. "Who are you, really? You're not Penelo," he growled, his crazed eyes jittering. His face was ghost white in the moonlight, and she could see the thin tracery of black veins just under his skin, like dirty cracks in a marble statue.

"I am not Penelo," Fran confirmed, doing her best to keep her thundering pulse under control, but she knew he could sense her confusion and alarm; she may not show it outwardly, but he could hear the rapid beat of her thumping heart, feel her blood thrumming through her veins where he gripped her wrists. She could smell his fear of whatever tormented him within his own fevered mind—she was sure he could smell her own fright. Fran wrestled her hand free and pushed it against his heaving chest, attempting to push him off—that was when Balthier panicked and lunged at her. His teeth scratched at her neck then punctured skin dangerously close to her windpipe. One of his cold hands slipped down her chest to hover over her heart as if he could tear it from her body. He froze before pushing her away from him, vanishing in a blur and reappearing a few feet away, fixing her with a glazed, glassy silver stare, a hand clasped over his chest. That was when she chose to act.

* * *

The sound of her heart was driving him mad—it was tempting, so tempting, it was _there_ right beneath his hand—Penelo pried her slim wrist from his grasp, had her hand in his chest once more, she was fishing for that something within him—he did not know what it was, but he could not let her have it.

He struggled away from her, and she vaporized into thin air like a phantom, though he could feel the ghost of her hand inside him still, feel her incessant gnawing at what made him _Balthier_ as opposed to anyone—or any_thing_ else. There was a tug on the thing inside and it nearly came loose that time—a scream lodged itself in his throat.

The Disable spell hit him like a ton of bricks, the will to fight leaving his limbs. He recognized the whisper of wood magick flowing through his veins and snarled his hate—how could Fran understand, he could not protect himself now! She was lying on the ground a little ways away, hand raised for casting.

"Fran," he pleaded, "You don't know what is happening—what you've done. Please, let me go!" She slid to her feet, uncoiling like a length of silk tumbling in a river of liquid fabric. She was beautiful, and real, and he wanted to weep hot, angry tears, but he could not—Penelo was crouching in front of him. He hissed at her faintly.

"Perhaps now is not a good time," she whispered, her lips brushing against the curved shell of his ear. He could do nothing but claw at her weakly as her hand brushed against the brocade patterns of his vest. "Don't worry, you have plenty of time to think of joining us—everything you want will be yours! I will await your answer."

Mocha hands wrapped around the back of his head and pressed his face against a long, swan-like neck. His vision was filled with white, spider-silk hairs as Fran held him close. He flexed one of his shaking hands, running it through the heavy deluge of locks because it was there and it distracted him from the regular, battle drum thump of her heart. The undulating waterfalls formed by her thick waves of hair slipping through his fingers mesmerized him, allowed him time to breath and find his proverbial happy place.

"Just take it," she was murmuring, and he heard her as if he were sitting in the bottom of a well and she were whispering in from the top. There was something wet and sticky on his lips, hot and sweet—funny, he didn't remember biting her, but there it was—come to think of it he was rather hungry—when had he last eaten? "You are frightened, and it will calm you. Just take it."

* * *

Balthier tucked Fran into one of the beds in the shared bedroom, pouring a little potion on her neck and watching as the crescent shaped marks healed. He should probably make her drink the rest when she woke up, but if he wasn't like _this_ (he glared distastefully at his hands, which still bore a thin mesh of scars from ignorantly using harmful White Magick) he could heal her completely. It was at times like this when he hated his undead body very much. It was like a shell, but at least it granted him mobility. Sometimes, the medallion got pushed out of him or his soul got jostled out of his body due to strong magick—and then he found himself plunged into the perennial void until his body was inhabitable again. Sometimes he wondered if, while he were gone, Fran would die and he would be left to drift within the void for eternity. That frightened him very much.

He was interrupted by a cheerful knock on the door. A check through the eyelet in the door revealed Maka and Soul Eater, who was carrying a small basket. Balthier remembered the schedule—study, meet with doctors, practice, free time. Just like the good old Akademy days… it brought a tear to his eye—as he yawned. He opened the door, pasting a mask of politeness onto his face.

"And to what might I owe this occasion?" he asked graciously, raising an eyebrow. He could smell the faint aroma of food rising from the basket, just as Maka said,

"Well, since we're neighbors and all, I thought you might like to have breakfast with us. We've already eaten, though, so we'll just keep you company." She frowned. "Where's Miss Fran?"

Balthier glanced toward the other room, where Fran slept heavily under the influence of anesthesia. "She's… asleep." Well, it wasn't exactly the truth, but they didn't really have to know about his nocturnal activities yet…

"Wow, heavy sleeper." Soul set the basket on the table and left Maka to unpack the contents.

"There's no need for that—I think Fran will stay in the whole day, and I have already eaten." Technically, that wasn't a lie either. "We can just go."

"If you say so," Maka rolled her eyes and led the way out of the room.

* * *

Balthier examined the man—or rather, zombie—that Maka introduced him to, named Sid, and honestly felt thankful that he only appeared like a zombie in very special circumstances. The unfortunate Sid had blue skin and a hole in his forehead, a broad, pig-like snout, and large teeth that seemed to show no matter what facial expression he wore.

"So you're the 'tame egg,' huh? Not much to look at, are you? They said you were undead, but you sure don't look it." Sid said gruffly, shaking his hand. It reminded him of Lightning, whose hands were warm, but not such that they burned. Beings that had passed on, all of them, but it seemed Lightning had been the most blessed out of all three that she did not have any sort of horrendous appearance at any time. Balthier gave Sid a pained smile.

"So I am called a 'tame egg'? I have a name; it's Balthier. Use it. And, usually I look different at night, but it is strange here. Nothing happened last night." Actually, something did—he remembered bits and pieces and a flash of golden braids—but nothing definitive other than the fact he drank Fran's blood during a fit of pique.

"The moon is a harsh mistress, to be sure," Sid agreed sympathetically, opening the Library door. Balthier took it all in, unable to stop the surprise curling in his gut. It was big—perhaps even bigger than the Archadian Royal Archives. Sid hefted a huge stack of books and slammed them on top of the nearest table, rattling the pens and paper and causing a few sheets to drift to the floor. The pirate raised his eyebrows. "These will be the books you and Miss Fran must study before we can start talking about more _interesting_things." Sid grinned (but then again, he was always grinning). "Well, unless you want to be here for the next century, you ought to get going."

The first book was boring, and the second, and the third. Balthier looked at his page of notes. Notes?

The three eyes were staring at him from the page. Feeling bile rising in his throat, he swiftly rose to his feet and left the room.

* * *

Sid casually handed the page of notes to Death, who took it with a frown in his voice.

"This is what he wrote? How disturbing… it starts out as regular notes: _A Kishin is formed when one consumes pure souls…_" he read. Sid shook his head.

"It gets worse."

"Does it, now?" Death continued reading. "_Kishin. Kishin. Kishin. Kishin._" The words began neat and orderly, but the handwriting degraded into a messy scrawl as it went down the page, filling it completely nearly from top to bottom. At the bottom was a crude scrawl of three vertical eyes. "It seems he can feel _it_, or is affected by it, at least."

"You think it is awakening?" Sid asked quietly.

"It may be quite possible—there _is_ a plot afoot to revive the Kishin that sleeps beneath the school." Death replied.


	4. The Birth of a Monster

My goodness, how long has it been since this story has been updated! Not since finals in school ended! Well, THAT must be changed. So here is chapter four! It's creepily creepy in my opinion, but I really wanted to get this out, so I suppose if there are errors... please let me know? Anyway, if you guys are still around, thanks to **emeraldonyxdragon**. I DO apologize for the delay, you must have given up on me, huh? Same to you, **Envy Elric**, **Lupus-Cantus-Grimoure**, **micromanager**, and **Wolfsbane706**. Unfortunately, school and other commitments are going to be filling my schedule soon... so who knows when I will update next? Last, but certainly, absolutely, and undeniably not least: **Tango-chan**, who has entertained, talked, pushed, and pulled me through this chapter more than she knows. Anywho, enough blah-blah. Let's read the story!

* * *

Fran sighed, watching Balthier crouch in the corner of the room in the shadows, his head in his hands. It was becoming harder and harder to hide his insanity; his mind frayed a little more every day, no-perhaps every hour.

"Time, I need more time, then I can figure it out. Hm? Yes, the pieces are all here... Time! Time! I am immortal and I've not enough time!" His maddened voice became a drawn out moan. "Ah... the music... please make it stop. The violin—I don't wish to play, please don't make me... I don't want to give it all up..."

Fran sighed again, and whirled when she heard him growl just behind her, the feral sound rumbling in the dusty air.

"Ffamran—"

"Don't." he growled, taking her hands in his own cold ones. "Don't sigh. Don't give up on me, Fran. Please don't sigh your life away. I will play the violin, if that will make you happy..."

"_My silly hume._" She kissed his cool brow, and he closed his eyes.

Every day he faded a little bit more, lost to the world within his mind that snipped away his ties to reality, thread by thread. Soon, there might be nothing left; Fran intended to make the moments Ffamran still had in reality the best in his unending life.

Balthier had retreated to his corner and continued muttering to himself.

"Time, time… just a little more time… I am going to murder time…"

* * *

"I feel so empty, Fran." Balthier complained. "There is an ache inside of me that will not fill."

Fran glanced at a page describing more hume legends of note about souls and weapons and meisters. So far, they had yet to see any action, and though it was not Viera tradition to take a life without meaning, she was getting impatient.

_Perhaps that was one of my downfalls_, she mused.

"Fran?" Balthier was giving her that odd, brown and silver-splotched gaze again.

"Do you need to drink some more blood?" she asked, massaging her neck. Balthier seemed to have recently gained a prodigious appetite. Almost every night, despite how much he tried to resist, he had taken to drinking small amounts of Fran's blood diluted in water. Without it, she was sure his sanity would have flown to pieces in the face of his failing humanity weeks since.

He lowered his eyes in response to her question, fiddling with a scrap of paper in his hands. "I don't think so. This ache… it is different from when I am hungry. Fran—they mentioned that my soul has become a kishin's egg." He picked up a book nearby. "They said that I am dangerous. Fran, the book says that Demon Weapons _eat_ souls like mine. Are… do you think they are going to kill me? I don't want to die, Fran—I'm so scared…"

_My silly hume._ Fran stroked his face, looking into his eyes. A child looked back at her, frightened and desperate, life sparking so bright within.

"_I will not let them kill you—they will have to come through me, first._"

When Maka poked her head in and asked if they wanted to take a break, both eagerly agreed.

"Kid and Soul are going to go play basketball with some friends. Do you want to play?" she asked eagerly.

Fran shook her head, as did Balthier when they looked at him pleadingly.

"I no longer play games, and I am afraid that I do not sit well with children."

"We're not kids!" Maka replied angrily, while Balthier gave her an airy wave.

"We will watch you play, however." Fran said with a small smile, while Balthier's face fell.

* * *

It seemed that the sound of the children's laughter brought back memories of happier days for Balthier, who watched them with a sort of intense intrigue. A young, conceited boy who grated on the sky pirate's nerves had introduced himself as Black Star, and upon being informed of what Balthier was, instantly grabbed the older man's shoulders and made a request.

"Can you do me a huge favor?"

Black Star leaned inches away from Balthier's face, and the latter leaned backward as far as possible to gain some distance between them.

"I would really, really rather not…" the sky pirate began.

"But—but—but—"

"Just spit it _out_, boy!" Balthier cried exasperatedly. "I swear, when it comes to intelligence, you rival Vaan for last place!"

"I was wondering if you would let Tsubaki eat your soul."

Balthier froze, his eyes like flint, and his hand almost unconsciously crept up his chest to hover protectively over the medallion. Tsubaki, a lean, almost wiry young woman with a kindly disposition, gave Black Star a firm smack on the head.

"I am so very sorry for his behavior, sir. He tends not to think before speaking; please understand he meant nothing by it."

The damage was done. Balthier shied away from them in horror, silver eyes suddenly wide and full of indescribable fear.

"Stay away from me!" he cried, backing toward the street, his hands searching fruitlessly for a weapon and finding none. "You'll not take me this way, woman!"

Fran's ears lifted in interest. Woman?

Balthier still raved, his insanity clear as he spoke fiercely.

"I'll not go there, to the place beyond places where nothing reigns supreme—you'll not take me beyond the veil this way, Penelo! Stay back and leave me to my peace."

Then he fled.

* * *

It felt like he ran a long time; the buildings loomed up, unfamiliar and pressing in close. They all looked the same: red brick, towering to the sky… but wait, he was standing on the buildings…

Balthier turned left at a sign that pointed straight toward a drop-off.

Three eyes blazed at him through a window beneath his feet.

"H-hey… are you alright?"

A woman stood over him, her feet firmly planted on the ground, which was the wall.

"Who are you?"

"It doesn't matter who I am; all that matters is your health. Oh, dear, you look so frightened and hungry! Here, why not have this apple?"

The apple skin looked as if it were made of gold.

"Are you one of _them_?"

"Hush." Her voice slithered into his ears like snakes as she bent over him, dark blond hair brushing his face. "I'm not. I'm trying to help you, my dear little soul." She pushed the apple into his hand.

"It's poisoned," he said harshly. "I'm not a child—I am not stupid enough to take food from unidentified, dubious personages such as your good self."

"I'm so hurt—alright, I will come clean. I am a scientist—I research souls that have become Kishin's Eggs, just like your own. I am so very curious about you… but those silly fools at the Death Weapon Meister Academy—they only wish to control you."

Balthier remained silent, tossing the apple hand to hand. His stomach growled irritably.

"I have no such desire." She pulled her hood back—why was it that he was just noticing these things? "I only wish to see you become stronger; for you to evolve and become a more perfect life form."

Balthier narrowed his eyes. "I am no soldier—no power hungry warrior. This talk of power does not suit me."

"It does not? How interesting. Usually that is all that Kishins wish for." The woman fiddled with one of the longer hairs by her cheek.

"All I wish for is freedom. I just want to go back to living my own life, my _old _life."

The woman walked down the wall until they were almost face-to-face. She had a black arrow for a tongue.

"There is a new world order. The old laws will be thrown aside. Stuffy traditionalists like Lord Death will be cast away like last year's clothes in the face of our progressive society—will you join me, Ffamran? With me, you'll never be afraid of anything—never again."

Balthier turned away, walking to the edge of the building. "It is not as if you are repeating lines that every villainous little rat who wishes something to gain says. My dear, you are so very cliché."

"An actor, are you? Then I will leave you to your acting, but know that I will always be here for you."

She vanished into the nothingness.

Out of hunger, Balthier ate the apple.

* * *

He still wandered the endless void; sometimes he thought he heard Fran calling for him.

"I found you."

Balthier turned around to find himself. This must be a—

"Dream. But you don't sleep."

"What is this new devilry?" Balthier snarled angrily, weary of his imprisonment. "Where are we?"

The other Balthier considered the question. "This is a special city. It is our soul."

"_Our _soul?" Was he—

"You. I am you. There is not a thing you know that I don't. Have you ever considered eating Fran? Not just drinking her blood, but… _devouring_ her soul?"

"I would never—" Balthier's hands balled into fists, while his twin tilted his head, frowning in discontentment.

"A pity. I am rather hungry right now. That soul you ate earlier tasted quite good."

Soul?

"I ate an—"

"Apple? Oh, poor, deluded Ffamran! Don't you know? The woman offered us a soul, and you ate it! The sin for eating a soul is very steep—you'll become a monster for sure, now."

This other talked too much.

"I'm not going to take that fall." Balthier drew a sword that suddenly appeared at his side. The other Balthier smirked, drawing an identical blade.

"And neither will I. A battle to the death, then? To see who will fall and become the monster? Fall and become the embodiment of pure insanity? Become the Madness itself?"

"You talk too much."

They clashed, swords ringing. In a trice, the other Balthier waved his hand before his face and became Fran. Balthier faltered for a moment, despite the fact that all but one cell in his mind screamed that it wasn't Fran. "Her" sword skimmed by his ribs.

"The first blood from the torso is mine!" "Fran" crowed, but Balthier merely growled.

"I'm not dead yet."

They fought again, and Balthier fought with wild abandon. He had not said it earlier, but the strike that other Balthier dealt him had sliced through a major artery. Left untreated, he _would_ die, and fall to the fate they now fought to avoid.

"Fascinating." Doctor Cid's voice interrupted his thoughts. "You fight so much harder now—could it be that I cut you worse than expected?"

Damn it—he—

"Knew your thoughts? Oh, my dear boy, so foolish!" Balthier snarled.

"Stop—"

"Finishing your sentences? My son, you are making it so difficult for yourself to think clearly and react to the battle." "Cid" slashed down, scoring a long cut across Balthier's chest. Black blood splattered to the red brick, making sticky patches on the ground. Balthier panted, pressing a hand to his chest. There was a prickling feeling on his skin—when he glanced down at his hands, he realized that it was the beginnings of what looked like golden fur starting to grow. He was not even dead yet, but he was already starting to transform into the monster. That wouldn't do, that wouldn't do at all.

"How fascinating! I've always wondered what Madness looked like—it seems I'll get to find out!" the false Cid laughed, advancing on Balthier as a sudden pain in his knees forced him to fall on all fours. Damn it, it would _not_ end like this, he would not be the one to fall to this… this double, this triple-faced _lunatic_ and become a creature embodying pure insanity!

"It's alright, my son. I will take good care of your body. It will all be over soon." The other Balthier, who had changed back to his regular form, set his sword aside and sat down nearby to watch what would become his ultimate victory.

Balthier snarled and struggled, but he could not stop. His hands, which were barely hands by now and more akin to long toed paws, found their way around the hilt of the sword he had abandoned when he began to change.

"Yes, yes! Kill yourself, complete the transformation!" the doppelganger shrieked excitedly, curling and uncurling his fists with eagerness. "_Set me free!_"

"That's not happening," Balthier growled. "Logic states that whoever dies will become the monster, but I'm not dead yet. I still have time before the change is complete. This will stop and all go away if I kill you first!"

The sword plunged through the other Balthier's chest. His mouth opened into a tiny, surprised "o" as his hands crept along the sword blade, as if to confirm that Balthier had really stabbed him.

His head fell back as he began to writhe, his body warping hideously until it was no longer human—all that remained of the human shape was the head.

"You absolute _fool!_" the monster screamed, towering over Balthier. "I don't want to become this! I don't! Please, I don't want to become the Madness. Why couldn't you _just die?_ Why did you have to do this to me?"

The other Balthier became an absolute nightmare. His body was that of a winged, golden-haired lion, with a mane of white fur around his neck, though his tail was an ugly, emerald green serpent. It hissed angrily, spitting venom that ate at the red brick of the buildings underfoot. But the head was still human. The Madness bore Balthier's face, an unmistakable piece of evidence for all to see exactly who he had once been.

The creature used its teeth to pull the sword from its chest, throwing it aside as if it were just a toy.

"Curse you, _curse you_ for doing this to me, Ffamran! Do you hear me?_ I curse you, Ffamran, I curse you!_" Balthier ran—he did not know where he was running or where he would go, but it was all he could do. The Madness began laughing, spreading his feathered wings and beating the air. "Yes, run, Ffamran. Run as far as you can—let's play a game! I'm going to chase you, and if I catch you, I'll _eat you up!_"

There was a door in the ground below, but somehow it was different from all the others. It glowed with arcane light. Without thinking, Balthier wrenched it open and leaped through, the light pouring forth swallowing him up.

* * *

He collapsed into the street in Death City, almost right on top of Maka. She screamed and lashed out before realizing it was Balthier. Soul and Kid quickly arrived and helped separate the two, all of them eyeing Balthier with clear hostility. Fran, however, walked forward and clasped his face, looking into his eyes.

She saw fear.

* * *

"The most recent developments involving the tame egg are most disturbing," Death said, wrapping his large hands around his mug of tea. "Though, I suppose we cannot say it is so tame anymore. How many souls did he eat?"

"Just one," Sid said. "The more disturbing thing is that he is now emanating wavelengths of insanity just like a regular kishin's egg. We can't keep him in one place any longer—he's gonna drive everyone else around him mad with that wavelength he's letting off. _And_, there were signs of a witch in Death City today. If she found him…"

"That is not important." Death said. "Keep an eye on him, but I want you to start preparing to protect the _real_ Kishin beneath this school. Nevertheless—do keep a close watch on our guests, Sid. If the witch is after a kishin's power, she may simply use him to try to make a Kishin of her own. She'll never need to awaken ours."


	5. The Snake is Revealed

I updated again! Yay! This chapter is dedicated to **ElTangoDeRoxanne** who is having... trouble right now. But thanks to all others who reviewed, namely **emeraldonyxdragon** because we have interesting conversations about stuff. This chapter came out of the blue. And I wrote it, so... may or may not be good, and I forgot to edit it but I WANT TO GET THIS OUT, dangit! Okay.

* * *

Fran sat on the balcony overlooking Death City, whittling at a new bow, while Balthier stood behind her, sweat pouring down his face. If he still needed to breathe, he most certainly would have been panting as if he had run a thousand miles.

Another shaving of wood fell to the white stone of the balcony's railing, and Balthier watched it fall with the single-minded attention of someone who wanted nothing than to be doing something other than what he was supposed to be doing. Fran looked back at him, a smile gliding not over her lips, but through her eyes. Balthier smirked, before Soul waved a hand in front of his face.

"Hey, you paying attention to anything I'm saying?"

"Regrettably, no." Balthier replied.

"Come _on_, man! Why did I have to get saddled with the incredibly old guy?" Soul groaned, burying his face. "I can't teach! I mean, why didn't we get Tsubaki here to do it? She's the good person."

"I am weary of Black Star's endless pestering. Earlier was a misunderstanding, I know, but…" Balthier sighed, looking down at his hands. He could remember the feeling of fur starting to grow, the pain as his form began to change. The Madness had begun to build a nest somewhere within his subconscious, establishing itself and worming its way into his mind through the cracks in his defenses, snickering quietly to itself. It promised itself it would take back what belonged to it by right, and cursed Balthier for his petty tricks.

Soul sighed. "Come on, dude. Quit drifting off in to dreamland for ten seconds and try again. Here's a bit of advice from Sid: picture the sharp sword in resting in your soul and stick to your own justice. It sounds lame and cheesy, I know, but you have to do this. Lord Death said so."

_Those silly fools at the Death Weapon Meister Academy—they only with to control you_.

"I will not be made a slave," Balthier murmured. "I am not a tool. The Judges are tools to the empire, the pirates were harnessed and made tools of the aegyl, and the humes are made tools of the gods. But I—I am no one's tool. My goddess is dead, and her tool is allowed a free rein. I will not let another take my leash."

Soul's lip lifted to show his sharp teeth, bared in a grimace of distaste. "Why do I get the freaks?"

Kid strolled onto the balcony, then. "Making progress?"

"No," Soul said, while Balthier moved away from them to lean on the balcony, watching the tiny people go about their business far below. "The best we got him to do was glow like he was about to change, but then he panicked and stopped."

_It wasn't just panic._

He _had_ envisioned the sword inside, but he did not see a sword. He saw the Madness there, sitting as if waiting for him, tail tucked around its paws and wings folded neatly against its back. It always smiled a fox-like grin, impossibly wide and deceitfully cheerful.

"_Go on_," the creature whispered. "_Try to take my power for your own. I will gladly give it to you…_"

If the Madness was the sword, Balthier would rather let the rest of the world rot, humans be damned along with the Kishins and witches and all the other nasty little buggers they read about. The creature existed as a double-edged blade with a mind of its own, all too eager to rebound and bite its wielder.

"There's always… _that_ option," Kid sighed.

"You mean the 'fight to the death' option to try scaring him into transforming? Good try, Kid, but in case you weren't informed, he's an immortal in every definition of the word. He won't be scared if we threaten to kill him, you know."

"And he's listening." Balthier, rather put out by the fact that they spoke as if he were not even there, gave his opinion. "Must I remind you that I am rather intelligent?"

"That is for certain. But what if we did this?" Kid procured a gun from within his jacket and pointed it at Fran. Almost immediately, Balthier shifted to pull her closer to him in a defensive position, though it they disguised it as a close embrace and a kiss. When they parted, Balthier gave them a twisted smile.

"You wouldn't pull the trigger, boy. You would not dare make me your enemy. You still need me to run through your little experiments, to be the docile little test rat for your father. I will play your games, but I will not be threatened."

Kid lowered the gun, which quickly transformed back into Patty. The little girl laughed—"He got you a good one, Kid!"—and danced away, giggling, but Kid frowned. He didn't like the way that Balthier's eyes flickered when he said he would not be threatened.

* * *

That night, while Fran slept, Balthier stood over her side, stroking her hair.

_Have you ever considered eating Fran? Not just drinking her blood, but…_devouring _her soul?_

He wondered what a Vieran soul would taste like. Almost as soon as the thought rose, he banished it, quickly shoving the door to their small apartment open and walking down the hall. He thought he saw a snake dripping out of the ceiling vent, but he ignored it.

Once out on the street and escaped from the confines of the apartments, he felt much more at ease. Always it was so—he found solace under the sky, not within the close space of an earthbound room, and certainly not within the chilled prison of a suit of armor. He did not say so, but he was afraid that, in the form of a weapon, if all the laws of physics were followed, he would find it very claustrophobic indeed.

"There you are! I am so glad we could finally meet in reality!"

The young woman from the dreamscape, before he fought himself, appeared from an alleyway.

"No secrets. Who are you?" Balthier tilted his head. "If you do not answer truthfully, I may have to do something rather nasty to you."

The woman smiled, sitting on… air? No—she had a tail, or at least the black jumpsuit she wore had a tail, that looked very mobile and acted as a stand for her to perch on.

"Very well. I am Medusa Gorgon, and I am a… scientist, of sorts, if you can believe that."

Balthier sniffed the air idly, picking up the scent of old Mist on her and chemicals that stung his nose with their potency.

"Do not think I do not understand spell crafting, Miss Gorgon, when I live in a land that reeks of magick. You are what the people of this world call a 'witch'."

"Correct."

Balthier smiled thinly. "Do you wish to make use of me as well?"

Overhead, the moon snickered to itself, blood dripping from its mouth. Medusa smiled ever so sweetly, her eyes gentle.

"As I said before, the world lacks progress. It stands still. I merely wish to see it move. Wouldn't you agree that it is the old laws that give people cause to fear you because you are what they call 'undead'?"

It was true. But, truth be told, the other undead of Ivalice did not do much to help break the stereotype, and really, he did not help, either. Grotesque, rotting appearance? Check. Desire to devour humans? Check. Mindless? No. He was not mindless.

"I understand you well. We witches are quite intelligent—just like you. But, we are hunted and killed because people fear our power and our ability to do harm. One would even think us animals!" She seemed aggrieved, but Balthier did not rise to the bait. "You know it to be true—you feel the same way. When the world evolves to a new level of intelligence, they will understand us."

"And how do you propose to do that?" Balthier sighed. This would go nowhere. Promises were ever and always empty. Behind him, Penelo crossed her arms.

_You would know better than anyone would. You broke your promise to stay in touch with us. Why didn't you give us eternal life, too?_

"I'll need your help. But… first, you look kind of hungry."

"I'll not eat more souls."

In his mind, the Madness whined, then hissed angrily, its behavior reminiscent of a child denied a sweet. It drifted closer to the surface, ever closer, until all Balthier could see was flashing teeth waiting to devour him—and they were. Medusa held a golden apple in her palm—in his mind, Balthier screamed angrily, but the Madness ate it almost the instant she offered it.

After that, there was nothing he could do to stop the monster from entering reality with a triumphant cry, and certainly nothing he could do to stop himself from being pulled into the Void as a whirlpool sucks down a doomed ship.

The Madness licked its paws and looked toward Medusa, grinning ecstatically. "I must thank you, my lady, but… surely you could have allowed me a human form?"

"The experiment is still in progress—I'll have a soul you can absorb soon that might allow you to do that, but we mustn't overreach ourselves yet, don't you agree? If that old fool, Death, notices more activity than normal, then we'll all get it." Medusa stroked the creature's cheek, and it smiled, eager to soak in her warmth. Standing, it stood even taller than she did, but it soon dwindled away back into Balthier's human form. The man clutched his head, cursing, and fixed her with a glare that would have sent any normal human running for his life.

"Damn you, I don't want any of this. I didn't want to see you, not then, not now, not ever. Leave me alone, both of you!" he snarled.

"I listen not to your words," Medusa purred, her black arrow-tongue flickering in and out. "I listen to your _soul_. And what it wants is to be _free_. I have granted it freedom, so you should be happy. As for me, my experiment was not a complete success, but if that infant Kishin inside of you is happy, then so am I."

Quick as lightning, Balthier pulled a dagger from his belt and threw it, transfixing her between the eyes, but she fell back and exploded into a shower of black snakes.

Balthier ran, the hisses loud in his ears, while the Madness laughed in the back of his mind, singing in an unearthly chime.


End file.
